Valediction
by Dziude
Summary: What better Valediction for a martyr than to ensure a sacrifice is not in vain? *long on hiatus, may continue if there is interest* Post film.
1. Chapter 1

_Valediction_

Evey Hammond stood watching the blazing inferno consume the Houses of Parliament. She watched till was merely a smouldering ruin and the masked crowds finally relented and let the emergency services through.

She stood till her feet were numb and dawn's grey light was beginning to creep over the city, and the fire crews left the scene in the care of the police. She stood immobile on the pavement, unaware of the people jostling her and the curious looks some gave her shorn head and rumpled clothes, streaked with blood and dirt and gunpowder. She simply stood, trying to force her numb brain to accept what had happened. What they had done.

_He's gone. It's over. V's gone. I blew up the houses of Parliament. Oh God…he's gone he's gone he's gone he's gone…_

She touched her lips, imagining she could still feel the cold lips of his mask…. And started as someone shoved violently into her from behind. She staggered forwards several steps and fell to her knees on the kerb. She sat there for several minutes, gazing stupidly up at the lightening sky and letting the misty rain trickle down her face.

_God is in the rain…_

She spun around with a strangled gasp, but there was no-one there. The milling crowds hurried past, oblivious. With a ragged cry, she lurched up from the ground and ran pell-mell down the pavement.

She came back to herself sometime later, standing alone in a dreary rain washed street some distance away. Looking up, she realised with some trepidation where her mad dash had taken her. The dilapidated, non-descript entrance to the Shadow Gallery. She froze, the rational part of her mind taking over to weigh up her options. She could turn around and go back to her own apartment… but doubtless it would be under surveillance, even after all these months. And Dietrich's place was out of the question. She'd just helped a masked terrorist murder the High Chancellor and blown up the Houses of Parliament, among other things; no doubt there would be several people who wanted a little chat with her. With a slightly hysterical giggle, she slipped inside.

Everything was dark and still, just as they had left it. A book lay open on the arm of the sofa, where he'd abandoned it the night before and one of his swords was leaning against his beloved jukebox, but apart from that the place was immaculately tidy. She choked back a sob. He'd known….

Moving to the sofa she picked up the book and choked back a sob. _The Phantom of the Opera_. No doubt liberated from somewhere he shouldn't have been.. She smiled slightly, the memory of V's nonchalance over the stolen butter coming to mind. She would've bet anything she had that he was grinning behind that mask.

The tears won out and she sank back on the sofa, sobbing uncontrollably.

* * *

_She was curled up on the sofa, head against his chest, watching "The Count of Monte Cristo" for the hundredth time. One arm was draped across her shoulders, and the fingers of the other were fiddling with her curls. He seemed completely relaxed for once, his heartbeat slow and steady in her ear, and……Her _curls

Evey frowned and sat up, raising a hand to her head and finding only short, bristly smooth stubble. Then she remembered and sank back down, fresh tears coursing down her face. What should she do now? Lifting the remote, she turned on the tv with shaking fingers. Just in time to catch the news. With a start, she noticed the date- she'd been out of it for almost three days. Central London was complete anarchy, widespread rioting and looting. Of course, the Party's lie machine was going at full capacity, but even allowing for that things looked pretty crazy. She felt a surge of anger. This was not what he wanted! If this continued, things would just go back to what they were before. Everything V had done, everything they had gone through, would be wasted..

She got up with sudden energy and made for the kitchen but was caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and stopped dead. Her face and eyes were red from crying, and there was dried blood on her forehead from a small cut. Her tears had washed pale tracks in through the dirt and smeared makeup. Her clothes were wrinkled and dirty, with smears of blood from where she'd dragged him onto the train. Her arms and legs were covered in small scratches. She looked like a refugee from a prison camp. Her lips twisted in a bitter smile as she washed her face and changed her clothes. His sacrifice would not be in vain. It was time for action.

She silently praised V's meticulousness for the thousandth time as she slipped out of television studios. She would never have managed to get out un-noticed without his blueprints. It had taken her almost fifteen minutes to steel herself and venture into his empty, immaculately tidy bedroom. Her heart had almost broken when she looked around the unfamiliar room and saw no bed, only a sofa. It seemed that she had unwittingly been depriving him of his room for over a year, and he never mentioned it. Always the gentleman….

But it had been worth the pang. In less than an hour, instead of the nightly dose of Party propaganda and lies, the nation would be treated to a videotaped message. Read by one Evey Hammond with the mysterious "V" standing in the shadows. Hopefully the _vox populi_ would be inspired by him once more and take the establishment of a new order into their own hands. She sighed. It was a good thing that the news of V's death had not leaked out to the public, but she was puzzled as to why the Inspector had kept his silence.

"Miss Hammond."

She froze._ Well, speak of the Devil… _She thought, turning to face him

"Good Evening, Inspector."

"A bit late to be wandering the streets _alone_, is it not?" he asked pointedly.

She smirked coldly. "Curfew seems to be temporarily suspended, Inspector. And what makes you think that I am alone?"

"Oh?" he asked sceptically. Evey just shrugged.

"Behind that mask is an Idea. And while even one person believes in it, that Idea cannot die."

"Bloody hell, you're even starting to sound like him…." He sighed, running a tired hand through his hair. She said nothing.

"Just out of curiosity, Miss, what do you intend to do next?" he lowered his voice, looking around quickly. "A smart girl like you is bound to have realised that this madness is playing straight into their hands."

She smiled cryptically. "You'll see."

He opened his mouth to reply, but the noise of shattering glass and muffled yelling several streets away made him jump and whirl around, gun raised. When he turned back, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Evey sighed as she hung her coat up and stepped out into the main gallery, glancing around. She still had a vague sense of apprehension each time she stepped over the threshold, as though she was intruding in someone else's sanctuary. She felt like V was going to step out from behind one of the pillars at any moment, or emerge from the kitchen in that ridiculous apron and ask was she hungry.

_Foolish girl. He's not coming back…_

Blinking back tears, she shook her head and strode over to the kitchen. She hadn't eaten since she left with V, and while her stomach protested at the very idea of food, she knew she should eat something. But after a few bites and at least ten minutes of staring at the plate, she gave up. Her eyes roved round the small room, landing briefly on the apron hanging over the back of a chair. She reached out as though to touch it, then slammed her chair back suddenly and bolted from the room. The scraping of the chair, her footsteps, her breathing; all sounded too loud in the stillness. Although always peaceful, the Gallery was _never_ this quiet when V was here. It was… wrong, somehow. She raced up the stairs to the roof and slammed through the doors.

It was raining again, thunder rumbling through the clouds like some giant, unseen dog warning of the oncoming storm. A bittersweet smile twisted her lips as another memory washed over her.

_V was standing in the middle of the roof, the rain drenching his shirt and trousers and running down the grooves of his mask as he looked out over the city. He made no move to show he was aware of her presence for a long time, and she was about to slip back inside when he turned to look at her, and then glanced up at the clouds._

_"Quotiens profisciscor pluit…" he sighed, but she had the impression he was smiling back at her as he took her hand and escorted her back into the building._

She didn't know where the quotation came from, but he had a point. V's appearances had an odd habit of coinciding with damp weather. Tears were flowing freely down her face now as she stood on the roof as the lightening cracked overhead, making even the short stubble of her hair stand on end.

The last time she stood here, free of fear for the first time, she felt like she could do anything. Stand by V's side and take on anything, even the Gods themselves.

Now she just felt small, frail… alone. He was everywhere in this place, she couldn't escape from him; yet she was completely alone. Despair washed over her.

She sank down on the concrete and raised her face to the sky.

It was a very different Evey who walked into Inspector Finch's office the next morning with head held high, a short blonde wig and baseball cap on her head. 

Finch recognised her straight away, and his jaw dropped. He motioned her in quickly, checking the Jammer and closing the door behind her as she sank into a chair. She looked even paler and thinner than before, if that was possible, and there were dark circles around her eyes. But she held herself straight as ever, staring at him with hard, calculating eyes.

"You've got guts to just march in here… The Party won't disappear that easily. Not everyone is happy with what you two did….."

She shrugged calmly. "I'm safe enough for the time being. I have no fear of Fingermen."

Her indifference surprised him, but he pushed it away. "Your little stunt the other night was quite successful, I might add. A good portion of the looting has stopped, and even some of the rioting, but they're still attacking Fingermen in mobs."

"Your people don't seem to be complaining much." She smirked.

He shifted slightly in his chair, but she continued. "Let's get to the point, shall we? I know there are several influential people who were…. dissatisfied… with the Party, and I have a notion you might know who they are."

"Now see here, Miss- I-" he cleared his throat. Silence filled the office for a small eternity as she stared at the table, apparently coming to a decision. Lifting her head, she sighed.

"Let me speak plainly, Inspector. V is gone. It's all down to me now, to finish what he started, and a little help would not go amiss… to rebuild the country, experienced people are needed. I cannot do it alone. I am not him." She looked at him levelly.

In that instant he realised the full magnitude of the weight on her thin shoulders. She'd lost a lot more than just a co-conspirator, and she was faced with bringing an entire country into a new era. If she failed, anarchy would reign, or things would simply slip back to the way they were. She looked so tired all of a sudden. He nodded abruptly.

"I shall see what I can do."

She stood, placing the wig back on her head, straightening the cap. "I will keep in touch. And I think that it would make things…_easier_…for us if V is kept alive, if you get my drift…"

The steel was back in her eyes. He nodded once more, and watched her stride out of the office.

Evey sat at the table once more, poking at her food with a fork. Finally, she put a bite in her mouth and tried to force herself to swallow. She knew she should, V wouldn't want to see her wasting away…

She managed three bites, before the bile rose in her throat and she emptied the meagre contents of her stomach into the kitchen bin. Sighing, she rose on shaky legs and bent over the sink to rinse out her mouth. Drifting into her room, she fell onto the bed, too tired even to cry.

She awoke some time later to the smell of roses. Leaping up, she glanced around wildly, but the bedroom was empty. Somewhere in the gallery, she heard a clock chime two. Growling with frustration, she lay back and tried to sleep, but it wouldn't come. She got up again and began poking through the books stacked in the corners, she came across a small blue book that seemed quite unlike the rest…

Easing it from the stack, she sat back on her haunches and looked at it. The cover was made of faded blue fabric, but nothing was written on it. A journal? She hesitated for a moment. If V had kept a diary, she was sure he wouldn't like her reading it.

_He's gone now. _She reminded herself fiercely. _Everything here is now yours. _

She left it on the bedside table, and lay down again. After tossing and turning for over an hour, her gaze fell on it once again. She stared at it for an age before sitting up and opening it. The book pages were entirely blank.

Letting out a breath she had not realised she was holding, she lay back down feeling slightly foolish. Sleep still evaded her, but a plan began to form in her mind.

A/N:"Quotiens Profisciscor, Pluit" "Everytime I go out, it rains..." It is a quote from somewhere, but I don't remember where. Any clues? (pardon my long disused latin...)  
Sorry if this is quite dark, it will lighten up in the next chapter. I think. R&R please. Peace. 


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